


traces and whispers and guilt held too tightly

by afteriwake



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dreams, Dreams vs. Reality, Feelings, Feels, Gen, Guilt, Hurt Spock, Hypnotism, Mother-Son Relationship, Poor Spock, Post-Star Trek (2009), Pre-Star Trek: Into Darkness, Spock Has Feelings, Spock feels, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock begins hearing his mother speak to him when he sleeps, and slowly it manifests in his waking hours, throwing his life into chaos. When he finally allows himself to listen instead of trying to avoid her, though, he finds the key to letting go of the guilt he'd kept so very deep inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	traces and whispers and guilt held too tightly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreenSkyOverMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenSkyOverMe/gifts).



> So I will be the first to admit that I'm not entirely sure _where_ this came from, but it was inspired by a four word sentence prompt that **GreenSkyOverMe** gave me from [this list](http://penaltywaltz.tumblr.com/post/144295231457/kilgravesjessica-four-word-prompts) that just struck a chord with me. I don't know why, I just thought it would be a very good story with Spock and Amanda, and it would be good for Spock dreaming about Amanda, and then when I started writing it this is what came out. So apologies if this is just really weird. It's just the story the prompt wanted to tell, I suppose.

"Please, come with me."

He did not dream often. It almost seemed as though it was impossible for him to dream, or had been since he was a child. But since that day on Vulcan, when his mother’s hand had slipped from his, since she had fallen and he had been unable to save her, he had had snatches of her in his slumber. Not _full_ dreams, just scant whispers of her voice, barest glimpses of her in the corners of his mind. If he tried to focus too hard on her she would disappear like a wisp of smoke and he would be left with nothing but the merest traces.

Soon, he simply stopped trying.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He started awake. It was rare he fell asleep during the day, in the middle of his duties. His Vulcan constitution did not allow for those things that Doctor McCoy called “cat naps” but his evening rest, brief as it was, was interrupted by the specter of his mother still, and though he stopped trying to go after her still she came, lurking at the edges. It made sleep hard, restless, and made him less eager to lay his head down at night.

And now he was attempting to rest during the day, and she found him now.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He attempted to find calm through meditation, but her words ran round and round in his head, as though they were on a wheel set in the center of his mind and he was I the center of that, watching it spin round and round. His normal meditation techniques were of no use for it, he found, and yet he still tried to find peace through old Vulcan ways. Peace, that was what he sorely needed. Peace and quiet and stillness and silence.

But peace would not come.

He wondered if it ever would again.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He ran her words over in his head. He had not thought to closely at the words that the specter of his mother in his head was saying to him. Did she want him to join her in death? He did not believe that there was anything after death, for it was illogical, though his mother had believed in Heaven and Hell and he hoped that, for her sake, a woman such as herself had gone to Heaven, as it would suit her.

Or did she want him to succumb to a state of dreaming, to delve into a place where there was no logic, no rhyme or reason and rules did not apply? Either way, he was not sure he wished to find out.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He started when he heard Uhura utter those words and he backed away, half scared for some reason he did not know. Fear. The foreign emotion coursed through his veins and he could see the same emotion mirrored on her face, paired with worry and a few others, ones he was too tired to name. Tired. He was so tired all the time. Even though a Vulcan could run on less sleep he was only half-Vulcan, and this...this was all wearing him down, he knew that. He knew eventually it would beat him to the point of exhaustion, to the point of madness, possibly.

But he would try his best not to succumb.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He let the words roll off his tongue, echo in the air as he laid on the chair, feeling unsure of being in the office. He had only gone because his Captian, his friend, had insisted. Said the Enterprise couldn’t run with its First Officer cracking up. He wasn’t sure he would go that far but then, he was not sure of quite a few things these days. The soft whispers of his mother were invading his days now, as though he was being haunted. Perhaps he was. Perhaps this was his penance.

What human thoughts to have. But he was half-human after all. She had been human. He could not forget that. She would not let him.

**–**

"Please, come with me."

He let his eyes shut, the lids drooping closed slowly, his breathing going more slowly in measured breaths. Meditation was recommended, of course, but as it had not worked in the months since Amanda’s death he had decided to try hypnosis. Perhaps that would work, perhaps not, but now he was desperate. He needed something to calm the voice in his head before he decided to take drastic measures.

**–**

_"Please, come with me."_

_He opened his eyes and saw, in all her glory, his mother standing at the doorway to her rooms, a warm smile on her face. “Mother?” he asked._

_“My dear Spock, you have fought this for so long,” she said, leading him into her chambers to the table where they would share tea when he was anxious, when he needed comforting. He could see her favorite tea set, the bone china set hand painted with lavender and lilacs. She sat down and poured him a cup and he could see it was the fragrant herbal tea she loved so much, the special blend his father had always picked up every time he went to Earth. This was all so vivid, so...real. "What happened, it was not your fault. You could not have predicted the rock could give way. You could not have known I would not survive, and you cannot blame yourself. I refuse to allow it.”_

_“But it is my fault, Mother,” he said, taking his customary place beside her._

_“No,” she said adamantly. “If the blame is to be placed on anyone it is to be placed on Nero, and he has paid the dearest price for it.” She reached over and grasped his hand and he was shocked to feel the warmth of her hand. After a moment she lifted her other hand up and caressed his face. “My darling Spock, you are holding onto your guilt too tightly, deep down. It is eating you alive. Let it go.”_

_“But if I let it go, I will let you go,” he said quietly._

_“I will always be with you, where it counts,” she said. “I will be in memories in your head, and I will always be in your heart. You do not need to hear my voice for me to be with you.” She gave him a smile. “My love for you will always be with you, my love, now and forever. It will never leave. I will never allow it.”_

_He nodded slowly. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, shutting his eyes. And then he felt it slowly all fade away._

**–**

"Please, come with me."

Spock spoke these words to his friends as he led them to the small garden in the cemetery in San Francisco. He was not one for sentiment, but he had thought long and hard and his mother deserved a fitting memorial, something better than to simply be forgotten among the Vulcans. He took them to the memorial gardens in the cemetery, and then stopped in front of the small section of freshly turned dirt holding a small lavender bush and some lilacs, as well as a small plaque, reading “In memory of Amanda Grayson, Loving Mother and Wife.”

“In memory of my mother,” he said quietly, feeling Nyota slip her hand into his. “I felt she deserved a memorial. A place of remembrance. Was this appropriate?” He looked at the nods among his friends and felt Nyota squeeze his hand and then turned back to the plaque and knew then that there would be no more dreams.


End file.
